


Long Nights

by sallyamongpoison



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Cullen is his light in the darkness, M/M, Naked Men, Samson is having a bad night, discussion of past drug use, written for prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6716389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyamongpoison/pseuds/sallyamongpoison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Samson is having a bad night and Cullen comes to check on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: I’m so claustrophobic, so don’t hold me so close.

The nightmares. The dreams. The sickness. It still came upon him sometimes. Usually it was in the dead of night when the snow was falling in thick, heavy flakes outside. It made things feel so much closer, so much _harder,_ and in those moments Samson couldn’t quite stay in bed. Even the blankets felt like too much, like they were choking him, and he had to get up and move. Ironically, when he felt like things were so close, the only place he felt _safe_ was tucked away in the bathroom and under the shower. Water helped. Sometimes.

He sat on the floor of the shower, warm water raining down on him as he pulled his knees up to his chest. It had been months now that he’d been clean, clean and mostly sober all the time, but he still felt those long weeks where he would drift in synthetic happiness. It was so hard to maintain that without the Dust now. Without it he felt so, so lost. What was he if he wasn’t an addict anymore?

Eyes closed against the fall of water and steam, and a low sob escaped him. There were so many days where he wanted to go back to it. He’d _liked_ being what he was, after all. It was comfortable, and when he was drifting the world felt so big and wide and open. Like this, when he couldn’t have it, the world felt so small and confining. It made him ache like he’d only recently stopped all over again, and the mixture of that phantom pain and his desire to go back to what had been so normal for so many years made it hard to function. There wasn’t anything else now, not really.

“Sam?”

He didn’t respond, but that gentle prompting made him clutch harder at his legs. Cullen. Cullen with his soft voice that never seemed to judge him. Cullen with his kind eyes that had looked at him without disgust or fear. Cullen and his warm heart. Samson had thought him weak, once upon a time, and he’d railed against his affections with anger. Cullen, however, had been steadfast and patient. Always patient. The man was practically a saint, until he’d had enough and given him the ultimatum.

_It’s me or the Dust. Pick one._

And he had. He’d picked Cullen with his strong hands, thick Fereldan body, and gentle soul. He was strong, stronger than Samson had given him credit for. Cullen was also stronger than _him_ and in these moments he almost hated how much he loved him. He hated how Cullen would hold him close, murmur at him how proud he was of his progress, and how he’d sit with Samson until the terrors passed. He hated that he loved him so. It was painful in that it made his heart feel so big and wide when the world felt so small. How could someone love him so much, and how could _he_ love Cullen so much, when it felt like everything tried to make him small?

The curtain pulled back and Cullen stood there watching him. His face was lined with sleep, etched in concerned, but warm. Always warm. Always understanding. Sometimes Samson wanted to smack that look right off his face and scream at him that he had no real understanding. He’d been _better_. He’d kicked the habit and lived with the consequences, not gone back to it again and again, and he didn’t _enjoy_ it. So to look like that, so calm and reassuring, it made Samson equal parts irrationally angry and comforted at the same time.

“Bad night?” Cullen asked gently as he squatted down so he was more eyes level with Samson. He could hear the other man’s knees pop for his trouble, saw the slight wince of pain as he settled himself, then rubbed a scruffy cheek against his knee.

Samson nodded silently, and Cullen bobbed his head as well. One hand reached out for a wet shoulder, but Samson recoiled. It was too much right now. Cullen was so bright, like a lit match in the darkness, and it was too much. He couldn’t. Not right now. He wanted to, wanted to fall into him and let the man soothe his pain, but he couldn’t. Samson physically couldn’t. Not yet.

That hand moved backward, and Cullen nodded again, “Okay.” He didn’t move away, though. Instead he settled on the floor outside the shower with his shoulder resting against the wall. Just close enough. That was…helpful. It was more helpful than Samson wanted to admit, and after some time he slouched to the side so he could rest his head on Cullen’s shoulder. His hair was wet and soaked Cullen’s shirt, but the man never complained or tried to move away.

They stayed like that until the water went cold.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr! @sallyamongpoison


End file.
